


Standing Me Up

by keep_waking_up



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Sick!Dean, curtain!fic, hurt!Dean, wincest-if-you-squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-17
Updated: 2013-04-17
Packaged: 2017-12-08 19:16:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/765035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keep_waking_up/pseuds/keep_waking_up
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's so quiet now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Standing Me Up

**Author's Note:**

> For hoodie_time: Awhile ago, Dean was injured and had a ruptured spleen that had to be removed. The spleen is important to the immune system, so this leads to lots of illnesses and sick! days. You can take this wherever you want. Gen or Sam/Dean preferred. The full idea behind it is that it would be a curtain!fic scenario with clinically depressed! Dean and the physical illnesses would make him feel even more useless and the two things would sort of combine in this not-so-fun combination that would lead to a breakdown.

Dean’s so quiet now.

He sits in the passenger seat and doesn’t say a word. All the tapes are gone, thrown out in a display of destructive anger before he’d hunched over and nearly coughed his lung up. It makes the silence in the car seem almost toxic. It was never quiet before. There was music, or mumbling, or at the very least one of their soft snores as they drifted off in the passenger seat. But not now. Even though Sam is driving, Dean is wide awake, quiet and staring out the window.

There’s no way they can hunt anymore. He knows that. Dean knows that. The last time they’d tried, Dean had nearly fainted in the middle of a battle with a vengeful spirit because mono had made him so weak. Sam had carried him back to the car because he’d managed to break his leg in the fall.

The doctor at the hospital had shook his head and clicked his tongue. The removal of spleen was not something to be taken lightly. Before, Dean had ignored the pills that had been given to him after the operation. Now, Sam watches him every morning, making sure every white pill is swallowed, one by one.

So, they can’t hunt. But Dean is just as opposed to settling down. It’s the only thing that really seems to affect him anymore. Limp and lifeless most days, at the mention of perhaps giving normal a try, he’ll be up and raging. Sam would mention it more often just to see that spark of life, except it normally only makes Dean worse for the week afterwards. Trying to feel something takes up too much energy that is supposed to be devoted to healing and recovering. He only brings it up anymore just to make sure Dean does care about something.

They travel now. Get up in the morning and drive until late afternoon. Then they stop. If Dean’s feeling okay, they wander the town. If he’s not, they hole up in a motel room and order food in.

Dean’s so much more fragile, delicate now. He still works out, or tries to, when he’s feeling up to it. But that’s less and less often and the pounds of muscle he used to carry have started to slide away. He’s leaner, the oversized leather jacket swamping him now. Sam wants to curl him into his arms until Dean can absorb some of the strength he so desperately needs.

It’s been four months. 

It’s getting worse. Dean’s silences have become longer and they stay in more days than they go out. He barely drives anymore, simply walks to the passenger’s side and slides in before staring blankly out the window. Sam drives and drives and can’t seem to find anything to make his brother better. To make his brother smile.

In a fit of desperation, he drives all the way to the Grand Canyon. Buys some meager camping supplies while Dean’s asleep in a motel, and the next day he tries to convince Dean to bed down near the canyon, a secluded spot that no one seems to have noticed recently. Dean looks up at the sky, all the clear stars, and then shivers. I’m cold, he says and looks at the shoddy tent with a blank expression. Let’s just get back in the car, Sammy.

At least the nickname is better than nothing.

Sam tries again the next day. He just wants to lay beside the canyon and look at the sky. He drives back to the same place and parks the car, before pulling out a blanket to spread on the ground. He doesn’t quite dare to yet, looking to Dean instead. I thought we could have a picnic, he says and any old fool could hear the hope in his voice. It’s warmer now. Maybe we can have a picnic.

Dean looks down at the ground, at the red Arizona dirt, and then shakes his head. Too warm, he says and eyes the blanket grimly. Let’s just get back in the car.

The nickname is missing this time. But Sam’s still determined to try.

The next day, he drives them back later in the day. He parks, but doesn’t bother getting out of the car. The blanket’s in the backseat. It’s pretty nice outside now, he says and swallows. Do you wanna sit outside? Watch the sunset.

Dean looks over at him and Sam doesn’t know what he sees. But he sighs and nods, before shouldering open the passenger side door. He gets out and stands there, hands in pockets, and for an instance Sam can delude himself into thinking his brother’s still his all-powerful protector. But then Dean’s shoulders slump in and he turns back to stare hard at Sam. Get the blanket, he says. I’m tired. I wanna sit down.

He spreads the blanket carefully over the uneven ground and is glad he brought an extra when a breeze blows by them and ruffles Dean’s hair. He takes his brother’s hand to lead him down to the blanket and then sits beside him, their arms brushing.

They stare out over the canyon, watching as the rays of gold, tangerine, and fuchsia reach out over the rusty rock, catching it’s hidden glimmers of sparkling stone. Dean’s quiet, but he’s always quiet now, and at least this time seems a bit more calm than the rest. Sam dares press his arm closer to Dean and can’t help a small smile when his brother doesn’t pull away.

Almost all the sun’s light is gone when Dean begins to speak, still looking out over the canyon. Why did you do this, Sammy? He asks, and his voice is soft as the dust. Why’s this so important to you?

Sam thinks, and then shrugs. You talked about it once, he answers, and laughs at himself because how lame is that? He shakes his head and repeats, You talked about it once, before adding, I thought you might like it. If you gave it a chance.

You shouldn’t be thinking about stuff like that, Sammy, Dean says and it’s more times than he’s said Sam’s name in months. It’s useless to think about stuff like that, he continues, cutting through Sam’s haze. It’s useless. I’m nearly gone.

Gone? Sam questions, because the word frightens him. What are you talking about Dean? You’re right here. You aren’t going anywhere.

Dean shakes his head, and Sam can see a spark of his determination there before it burns out. Can’t stay, he says. Can’t stay here and do nothing. ‘S driving me crazy, Sam. It’d be better if I go.

Please tell me you’re not saying what I think you’re saying, Sam pleads and he’s trembling with it. He puts a hand on Dean’s shoulder and can barely feel any body heat. It’s not that bad, Dean. You’ll get better, you’ll improve, you’ll see. You can’t be saying you’ll give up.

Why not? Dean asks and it’s the simplest question with the hardest answer.

Because you’re Dean Winchester, is what Sam comes up with, and even though it sounds stupid, he says it anyway. The words flutter in the air between them and Dean takes his eyes away from the horizon to look at Sam and they’re clouded with tears. Sam wants to hug him, but instead he just looks at him and says, Because you’re you and I’m me and you don’t get to give up. That’s my job, Dean. I’m the one that loses sight of these things. You’re the one that’s strong. You’ve gotta be strong, Dean.

I don’t feel so strong anymore, he says, but he’s still looking at Sam so he hasn’t lost him entirely. I don’t feel strong at all. I feel useless.

Sam nearly snaps at that. Instead, he grabs at Dean’s hand. You’re not useless Dean, he says and squeezes it hard. You’re the farthest thing from useless. Can’t you tell? You’re what’s keeping me standing up.

One of the tears falls out of Dean’s eye and strolls down his cheek, leaving a glimmering trail. Neither of them move to wipe it away. You can stand without me Sam, Dean whispers, all hushed like this is their big secret. You’ve been able to stand without me for years. I just liked to pretend I could prop someone like you up.

It was never pretend, Sam promises and presses a kiss to the tender inside of Dean’s wrist. He looks up and lets himself fall into green. Please Dean. I won’t know which way’s up without you. I’ll fall down and won’t be able to get up. He grabs at Dean’s other hand and draws it to him. If you feel like you can’t stand alone anymore, I can help you stand up. Seeing you stand makes it possible for me to pick myself up. 

A few other tears have followed after the first, and Dean leans in to rest his head on Sam’s shoulder, fevered and comforting. I don’t like feeling this way, he confesses. I don’t know how to be me and feel like this.

Let me help you, Sam says and he’s not sure if it’s a demand or a plea. 

Dean doesn’t agree or disagree, but he stays the whole night, sleeping tight in the warmth of Sam’s arms on the edge of the canyon.


End file.
